Sunday, September 23, 2001

From the creators of Threepwood '01,

... comes a new dazzling adventure,

... based on the oldest story of them all,

... presented for the first time on a computer screen near you,

It is: Bjørn Stærk's blog v1.2. He tried to get out, but they pulled him back in again.

... "A tour de force of norwegian weblogging" - New York Times

... "He taught me everything I know!" - George Orwell

... "Brilliant." - Indre Smalahove Tidende

... "99%: Two thumbs up! 1%: Don't have web." - Recent poll.

Thursday, July 19, 2001

Hello, I must be going.

Don't let mr Death to the right scare you, he's only there to remind us that everything changes and dies - all the time. At best, this blog will change, at worst it will die, and if it dies and I forget to tell you, well, consider yourself told now.

First of all I'm getting a job, a real one. Real, as opposed to what I've been doing for the last 12 months, which I might write a pretty angry political essay about one day if I decided to pretend such a thing would matter. Doesn't, but FYI: Since last August I've been a civil worker, which is the alternative to norwegian military service. Civil service is based on the nifty idea that when the enemy walks in, and the fools who chose military service are all dead or captured, the new administration is going to require a lot of fully trained, non-violent xerox and coffee-making expertise. Which is, not coincidentally, how most civil workers spend their service.

Ok, so I don't know how much my conscience really objects to the military any more, (I certainly felt out of place with the anarcho-socialist dreamers who showed up at our quarterly gatherings), but I really did believe in these things when the issue was settled a few years ago. So, after college, having watched the second best minds of my generation run off to high-paying IT consultant jobs, I was shipped to the Oslo city government, for a year in tech support and long, long hours of doing absolutely nothing.

Sounds great? No. Would have been hell, hadn't I had the web, and suprisingly even that got boring soon enough. I had to invent my own temporary profession: Blog Writer. My word per minute ratio is very low, and having the daily pressure of finding something to blog gave my day purpose.

Those empty hours are gone, and this blogs original purpose with them.

Also, with the perspective of one and a half months inactivity, I look back on much of what I've written here with a deep sense of embarassment. Don't worry, after 6 years of writing online, I've learned to ignore that feeling, and resist the temptation to delete. The words are there, forever, and they speak for themselves, no more and no less.

But the blog will, must, change-or-die, along with my life, which has been through some odd turns lately, and is scheduled for even more.

Of course, it's not like anyone cares. In terms of readers I've worked myself up from nothing to a state of extreme poverty, and I still get most of my hits from that awful AOL search engine, which insists that Threepwood '01 is a haven of naked newsreaders and vagina closeup pictures. But this was expected, (the few hits, I mean, not the fascinating search queries), and I care even less about reaching the masses with my wisdom now than I did five months ago. I just like standing on a soapbox, that's all.

I always wanted to kill this blog with a HAL quote, (guess which one), but I guess that'll just have to wait until things settle, and I decide what to do with it. Waiting is, etc. etc.

Thursday, June 14, 2001

Still here? I'm off for a vacation now. On the schedule: Job interviews, a family visit, and a couple of cities I haven't seen before.

Don't wait up. And turn off the lights when you leave.

Sunday, June 10, 2001

Would by tempting to put up a Gone Fishing sign by now. Well, I haven't. But Suck has, indefinitely, and that is a real tragedy.

Tuesday, June 05, 2001

"Digital distribution of music through a subscription service does not work without burning. People do not want to listen to music on their PCs but in their cars or on a Walkman. I don't know of many parties where everyone gathers round a computer."

Roxio, (makers of Easy CD Creator and target of a very odd Gracenote lawsuit), on its music downloading deal with EMI. They're going to "develop a secure way of reproducing songs on to blank CDs", which sounds like a good idea until you realize that this is what people have always done with their CD writers, and notice the word "secure" which is legalize for "restricted".

Even more odd, they assume that nobody will ever want to hook their PC up with a HiFi, which is up there with "640k ought to be enough for anyone" in shortsightedness. (Bill Gates didn't say that in 1981, but that's irrelevant). Can't see myself going back to owning a CD player ever again, and some kind of black box commercial product would be so easy to make, and so much much more practical than manually switching audio CD's, it's bound to happen.

Saturday, June 02, 2001

So many great scenes in Dr Strangelove (1964) to choose from, but here's one:

Peter Sellers as President of the USA, phoning Soviet premier Kissof to break the bad news.

Jonah Goldberg sums up three and a half decades of Star Trek, illustrating why collecting seven seasons of Voyager is not a top priority of mine right now, (got to finish TOS 1-3 and TNG 5-7 first - and B5, SG-1, and .. oh never mind):

Where we started with a ship and crew dedicated to confidently conquering the unknown and imposing our own sense of justice on the galaxy when necessary, we now have a ship suffering from a constant lack of confidence, desperately trying to get home to mommy. The first Trek crew would have sold their souls to be in a whole new quadrant of the galaxy no one had ever seen. The last line of the first Trek movie, Star Trek: The Motion Picture, concludes (mercifully) with a helmsman asking Kirk for a new heading. He answers, "Out there…thataway." This is not a man in a hurry to sleep in his own bed.

Friday, June 01, 2001

From NTK: A very poorly password-protected list of e-mail addresses for sale to spammers. 33 million of them, apparently.

Downloading right now. Time to find out how many of mine they've got in there.

Also time to stop revealing one of my current ones in clear text on every page of this website. I just learned a very simple trick to fool webcrawlers: Turn it into an image. So here it is, my new e-mail address, (which does support PGP btw):

Steve Gibson, hacker and humanitarian, investigates a DOS-attack on his webserver, learns IRC, and gets mixed up with a 13 year old script-kiddie. Hilarious, tragic, and educational.